The Interrogation
by MissFeral
Summary: Suppose Syndrome had not died at the end of the movie, but was only injured. This is just a one-shot of what I think would be an interesting follow-up story. Warning: Contains tickling. So, if you don't like that, don't read.


How Syndrome managed to survive nobody knew, but the poor sucker was critically injured and spent six months in the hospital before being incarcerated in a maximum security prison. The explosion had burned his face beyond repair and his hair was destroyed. A train track of stitches left him permanently scarred on various parts of his body. He was often in pain even after being released from the hospital. The police confiscated his fancy inventions and demanded to know how he made them. No luck there. The former villain wouldn't say word. If anyone were to learn the secrets of his inventions it would ruin his power. He didn't plan to stay in jail forever, and was already plotting a brutal revenge on everyone...especially those Incredibles.

Upon the request of the now highly respected Mr. Incredible, he was allowed to come down to the prison to personally question Syndrome.

"Thanks for coming, Mr. Incredible. It's an honor to have you here," a female officer greeted him.

Bob shook her hand and followed her down the echoing corridor. He hadn't seen Syndrome since the day he threw that car at him. It worried him that the diabolical devil was still living.

"I'm Officer Collins," she said. "I'll be in the room the whole time to monitor the interrogation."

Bob nodded, understanding why such precautions had to be taken. His normally calm demeanor could turn into a violent rage if somebody pushed his buttons. And Syndrome was one of those people who would do that.

"You're free to use any methods of your choice to make him talk," Collins said. "But you may not physically harm him in anyway."

"I understand. Has he caused any trouble since he got here?"

"He hasn't spoken much, but he's angry. Can't say I blame him either. Have you seen what he looks like now?"

"Pretty bad, I assume."

"I still can't believe he's alive."

Bob and Officer Collins arrived at a heavy door with a blacked out window. Collins fumbled with a key chain for a few moments until she found the correct key. Then she unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Mr. Incredible followed her into the dimly lit room. There was a table with two chairs on either side.

Syndrome was pacing around like a caged animal, with his hands folded behind his back. He looked surprised when he first saw Mr. Incredible, but then a dark glare of disgust formed on his face. His eyes filled with hate.

"Have a seat, Mr. Incredible," said Collins.

"That's fine. I'll remain standing." He picked up one of the chairs and gave it to Collins for her to sit on.

Then Bob sashayed over to Syndrome and pointed to the other chair. "You. Sit there."

Syndrome's rough and disfigured lips curved into a smug smile. He began to speak:

"Well, well...I must say you surprised me by popping in, uninvited, to my little headquarters here. But, I can't say as I'm shocked. It's just like you to come see me when I'm hurt and humiliated. You always did have a sick pleasure in seeing others in pain. I know exactly why you're here now! You've come to laugh at me! You're going to spit in my face. You're going to moon me and fart on my memory. You SUCK! You and yours are going to pay big...and I mean BIG! Wait...oh, Jesus, I'm monologuing again, aren't I?"

Bob glared at him. "I said sit down. That means now."

Syndrome hesitated, but decided to obey the order. He slowly lowered himself onto the chair, suffering some pain as he did so.

Mr. Incredible felt a twinge of sympathy for him, but quickly shook it off. He pounded his hand on the table in front of his ex-fan.

"Alright, let's make this easy. I'm here to convince you to give up the secrets of your inventions. Nobody can figure out how you made them so we need your help. You better start talking."

Syndrome just glared at the superhero with hate-filled eyes.

"I'm not talking to you," Syndrome hissed. "Especially not after what you did to me. Just...just look at what you did to my glorious face!" His voice cracked a bit.

"You tried to kidnap my son!"

Syndrome folded his arms and lowered his eyes. His death-promising glare was reduced to a boyish scowl.

"Now, don't make me get rough with you," warned Bob, leaning close to the younger man.

"You can't hurt me," scoffed Syndrome. "Bitch over there is making sure of that." He nodded towards Officer Collins.

Bob sighed, clutching the edge of the table. It crumbled a little under the pressure of his powerful hands. "Listen, I don't want to be here all day so you better start talking. Where are the directions for your inventions?"

"What directions?"

"You must have them written down somewhere so where are they?!"

"They're not written down anywhere. I've got them stored right up here," Syndrome said, pointing to his head.

"Tell us."

"No."

"Talk!"

"Never."

Bob glared at him. "Do I have to get violent with you again? Give the police what they want. Or else!"

Syndrome turned to the police woman. "Officer, he's threatening me again!"

"Don't tell me you're scared, Buddy," Mr. Incredible teased.

Syndrome gasped. "Hey, don't ever call me that!"

"Ya know, you're not so tough without that big old 'S' on your chest, are you?" Saying this, Bob gave him a poke in the chest. Syndrome jerked away in replusion.

"Don't you touch me!"

Bob poked him again, in the side this time.

Syndrome gasped, flinching away from him. "I said stop it!"

Bob didn't care; he welcomed anything that annoyed the stubborn villain. He figured Syndrome didn't like being touched because it grossed him out. After all, they were enemies. He poked him again in the side, then right in the stomach.

"Q-quit that!" Syndrome squeaked, trying to cover himself. He giggled as Bob continued to poke his stomach and sides.

"What's so funny?!" Bob shouted.

Collins realized what was happening. "Uh, Mr. Incredible?" He looked at her.

"I think you're tickling him," she said, amused. "He's ticklish, Mr. Incredible!"

Syndrome gulped.

Mr. Incredible had an evil smile on his face. He started tickling Syndrome's sides. Syndrome screamed and fell on the floor, erupting with laughter.

"Heehehehehehee! No, no, nononono! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! C-cut it out! YOU BASTARD!"

Bob let out a hearty laugh. "Ticklish, eh? I wish I had known that a long time ago!"

Syndrome tried to curl up in a ball, but Bob pinned him to the floor face- down and held him in place by pushing his knee against Syndrome's back. Then Bob tickled his sides like there was no tomorrow.

Syndrome's laugh was high-pitched and girly.

"STOP HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! YOU'RE TICKLING!"

"Am I?!" Bob grinned wickedly.

Syndrome buried his face in his sleeve, trying to muffle his laughter.

"Cootchie coochie cootchie," Bob teased, as he began scratching Syndrome's ribs.

"AAAAAAHH NOT THERE! HAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NOT THE RIBS!" Syndrome shrieked.

Mr. Incredible kept at it, tickling a little harder. He began kneading and squeezing his sensitive ribs, but he had to be careful so he wouldn't smash the guy's ribcage (which he could easily do if he wanted to).

"HEEEELP MEEE!" Syndrome begged the female officer. She just grinned and shook her head.

"Are you going to tell us about your inventions?" Bob asked.

"N-NO! HEEHEHEHEHEHEE! NEEEEVER!"

"Alrighty, let's see what other spots we have here..." Bob noticed the burn scars on Syndrome's neck but he started tickling him there anyway. He was rewarded with an shrill scream and a peel of hysterical laughs.

"NAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OH GOD! EEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEE!"

After a few minutes of neck tickling, Bob flipped him over on his back so he could tickle his stomach. Syndrome was panting and sweating, but Bob gave him no time to recover. He ripped open Syndrome's prison uniform to reveal a lightly freckled belly.

"Not there, please! Not there!"

Syndrome's pathetic pleas made Bob laugh. How long he had waited for this moment...to have this little creep begging for mercy. He sat behind Syndrome's head and pinned his arms back by sitting on them. Now Bob had both hands free to begin tickling Syndrome's tummy, which judging by his desperate pleading, must be VERY sensitive.

Mr. Incredible wiggled his fingers over his victim and laughed so evilly that someone could have mistaken him for a villain rather than a superhero. Then his fingers dove into Syndrome's gut, forcing screaming laughter out of him.

"AAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA OOOOOOHH PLEEEEEEEASE STOOOOOOP! I GIVE UP! UNCLE! HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA I-I'LL TELL YOU AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA EVERYTHING! HEHEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE I'LL TAAAAALK!"

But Mr. Incredible didn't stop. He wasn't ready to stop yet.

"Officer Collins, is this room soundproof?"

"As a matter of fact, it is," she replied.

"Good, because I'm never stopping. This is personal, and Junior here...is going to pay for his deeds."

Then Mr. Incredible tore away the fabric covering Syndrome's armpits. He saw that his underarms had been completely untouched by the explosion and fire. His pits were in perfect condition, very soft and grazed with auburn hairs. They were also sparkly with beads of sweat.

Syndrome's pleas fell on dear ears once again and he cried tears of laughter as Bob scribbled in the hollows of each pit.

"WAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO PLEASE! OH PLEASE STAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!"

After what seemed like hours, Bob stopped and let Syndrome breathe again. The former villain was dripping with sweat and his tears had soaked the floor beneath him.

"Having fun, Buddy?" Mr. Incredible asked, sadisticly.

"I told you, my name is not BUUUUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH NOOOOO! AAAAAAHHHH GOHOHOHOHOHOD PLEASE! NO MOOOORE!"

"Buddy, Buddy, Buddy..." Mr. Incredible tickled him everywhere he could reach, his stomach, ribs, sides, hips, neck, underarms...

The poor guy pissed in his pants. He wet the floor a sickly shade of yellow. Even then, Bob didn't stop. He just laughed at it.

Officer Collins made no effort to stop the tickle torture either. The rule was Mr. Incredible couldn't hurt the prisoner. There was no law against tickling.

"I CAN'T BREATHE! HAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA YOU'RE KIHIHIHIHILLING ME!" Syndrome wailed, as tears formed endless rivers down his cheeks.

Then, Mr. Incredible decided it was time to try that belly button. It was a big, round, outie belly button. Not the kind to be proud of, but it was the most ticklish spot on Syndrome's whole body. Just the thought of being tickled there would have him giggling and covering that spot defensively. But in this situation, he was completely helpless and vulnerable and at the mercy of a fiend who wanted nothing more than to tickle him to death.

Bob asked Collins for a feather. She produced a long goose surprisingly quickly and gave it to him.

"W-w-what's that for?" Syndrome asked, through his sobs.

"I'll give you three guesses."

"Please," Syndrome whimpered. "I can't stand anymore tickling. I'll do whatever you say...I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"I don't think you understand," Bob said, coldly. "This isn't about that anymore. This is about revenge. Can you blame me? I find out you're ticklish, of course I'm going to take advantage of that."

Syndrome had to agree that it was pretty hard to not take advantage of something like that. He would have done that same thing to an enemy if given the opportunity.

"Now, back to business," Bob said, lowering the feather to Syndrome's belly button. When Syndrome realized what the target was, he began panicking more than ever. There was no way he could survive this!

Bob let the tip of the feather caress his outie button, then went to swirling and twirling it around.

Syndrome burst into shrieking laughter. He bucked and writhed, tears flowing as though two faucets had been turned on. He threw up a portion of his lunch and shit his pants. He had never laughed so hard and for so long in his entire life. He finally came to the conclusion that he actually did die in that explosion and had been sent to Hell.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! EEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE! WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA OOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO! STAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!"

He passed out.

Mr. Incredible stood up and stretched his back. "Oh, yeah, that was fantastic."

Collins strolled over to examine the unconscious body sprawled on the floor. She fetched a bucket of cold water and threw it on his face.

As the officer revived Syndrome, Bob hung around to enjoy his victory a little longer. It took a long time for the tortured man to compose himself, but when he finally did, he gave Mr. Incredible a glare. If looks could kill, then that glare would have done it.

"What's wrong, Buddy-Boy? You look like you're upset," Bob mocked.

"Let it be known...that I will make a comeback. I will return to your city and NOBODY will be safe. Everyone will live in terror! I will get out of here someday and when I do, everyone will feel my wrath!"

"No...I don't think so," Mr. Incredible said, calmly. He pointed over at the wall. "Do you see that camera?"

Syndrome's stomach dropped. "Huh?"

"That's right," Bob said, smirking. "Everything that happened in this room has been caught on tape."

Syndrome looked up and saw a camera mounted on the wall that he hadn't noticed before. A shiver of horror ran down his spine.

"That tape is going viral tonight," Bob continued. "We're broadcasting it on television and the whole world will know how ticklish you are."

"No, dear God...please no."

"And when everyone sees it...do you really think anyone will feel intimidated by you? Ever again?"

"Please, I am begging you," Syndrome whined. "Don't do this to me."

Mr. Incredible was not even slightly moved by these pleas. "Buddy, you should have thought about this before you made me and my family go through that Hell."

As much as Syndrome loathed being called by his real name, that was the least of his worries.

Mr. Incredible patted him on the head like a child and then turned to leave. When he got to the doorway, he stopped and turned around to give Syndrome one last piece of advice.

"Oh, and one more thing...if I were you, I would do my best to stay inside prison. The tickle torture I gave you will seem like a day at the beach compared to what you will get out there from people more creative than myself. Better watch your back."

The End


End file.
